


Outlines

by Knightqueen



Series: Java Bolt [2]
Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon Character of Color, Coffee Shops, F/M, Female Character of Color, Headcanon, Not Beta Read, Not Beta Read as fuck, Rating: PG13, Secret Identity, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-25
Updated: 2013-12-25
Packaged: 2018-01-06 01:15:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1100709
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Knightqueen/pseuds/Knightqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Everything between them was business, much to her secret frustration." Resslik, sequel to "Not Really a Coffee Shop AU".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outlines

**Author's Note:**

> **Author's Note:** This is something of a continuation of "Not Really a Coffee Shop AU" (which is just a shortie, so you don't have worry about reading over something over-extensive). Kinda rough, I just needed to get this submitted before fucking midnight.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Donald, who liked to think hisself pragmatist, fell in love with Meera two years ago, and Meera, who only just accepted who he is, feels sorry for him at first because she fell in love with Mike Oman, a man completely different from the person she reunited with in Washington. Granted, she knew the nature of their business, how much of it depended on trickery and false identities. Considering her status within the agency, she should've been able to pick up on his tells. But she didn't. His worked like a charm and that's the part that frustrated her.

To his credit, instead of trying to hastily explain himself, he wasn't crossing any boundaries with her. Everything between them was business, much to her secret frustration because she wanted him to explain himself. The only time they truly butted heads was when he pried or dared ask why the CIA enlisted the help of a civilian to do an agent's job. To imply incompetence in something she had a hand in was to suggest she was doing poorly at her job, and to suggest anything of the sort was asking for trouble - professionally and personally.

He was keeping his distance and remaining as impersonal as possible with just about everyone, except Reddington, who unequivocally got under his skin with a mere jibe. The rest, whether or not she would reciprocate on the basis that he would be receptive, was for her sort out. She wasn't a part of his job in Munich, whatever that assignment was, so she had no real reason to suspect that she was being used on any level beyond keeping up his cover.

Moreover, nothing was keeping her from perusing a relationship with Ressler beyond her own caution, caution that was warranted at this point. After all, she wasn't here for him; she was here because she wanted to continue protecting her family - even when her daughters hated her for going back to work. If she jeopardized that, then coming back was for nothing.

Donald on the contrary chose not to peruse any kind of relationship after things fell apart with Audrey. That was what was bothering him. Donald made the very concise choice not to go after her when she cut ties with him, he threw himself into his work and he enjoyed it. He was making something of hisself, he gaining a reputation and climbing the ladder in the process of serving his country. A relationship was a 'small' loss in the grand scheme of things, but hurt no less. Falling back into the habit of associating with the opposite sex on a non-professional basis wasn't hard, but it certainly became difficult when he actually became interested in Meera.

She wasn't overly impressed by him. If anything, she was more amused by his attempts to sweet-talk her whenever "Mike" was on break. She'd take a moment from her coffee to listen to him, usually to ask him why he was adamant on talking to her whenever she stayed longer than ten minutes at the coffee shop. "You look like the only person in the shop that won't bite my head off," He said. "And… I like Mark Grisham." He actually had no idea who the hell Mark Grisham was, but it was the first name that came to mind when he saw the Robert Ludlum novel sitting next to her cell phone.

They weren't even remotely the same, but it was a starting point. Audrey wanted to be children's author when she graduated from University, so they had something to talk about at least. Meera rarely said anything about her job, which left him to do most the talking about his miserable cover of a job at the very establishment they sat in. The way she told him "I work for acquisitions" gave him pause, nagging the back of his brain like something familiar, but he never took the bait she inadvertently fed him.

And he was sure it was the stress from the assignment that got him rambling as much as he did when he was with her, but he never felt more relaxed when he was talking to her. She was always on her guard, hesitant to open up to him completely, even when she was laughing at his terrible jokes and feeding him stories about her childhood.

He assumed it was because she was in a relationship with someone else. But, her hand was bare, there wasn't a sign that there was someone else in her life, but still she hesitated to commit completely and honestly, he was fine with that. The chances that their relationship would go anywhere was just as likely crumble like the fabricated account of Mike Oman's life once he completed his assignment.

Meera had the Freedom to come and go as she pleased, he - or rather "Mike" - wasn't so fortunate, and he was always wondering what she was doing when she never visited the Java Bolt. Instagram was a fairly disarming and frivolous way to let her know he was thinking about her and typically got an emoticon as a response via Facebook since she didn't have an Instagram account. Their relationship never became sexual. Physical intimacy never went beyond kissing or holding hand and he was fine with that. (He didn't want to know what his blood pressure would do if she invited him to her abode. He'd probably die or wind up stuck in the bathroom.)

It was likely why they were comfortable with working with each other in the beginning – or at least, he liked to think that was the reason. Meera adjusted to his actual identity quicker than he adapted to hers; they parted on good terms, "family" being his cover, family being her actual motivation. It was the "I didn't know you were a federal agent" that caught them in each other's cross-hairs. They played off each other's frustrations, Donald going straight for the "Spooks" vs. "Suits" jibe.

She took the bait, of course, but turned it back on him. "I'd be mindful of who you say that to, Agent Ressler," She told him, pony tail resting on her shoulder. "Someone might misunderstand you." He bit his tongue for the most part, and bit it harder when she chose remain silent after the capture of the Freelancer. If she was angry with him, she took it out on the Freelancer and he'd be lying if he said the ordeal didn't leave him frightened and unsure how to approach her.

He wanted to tell her how important she was (is) to him, but he could never get the chance and rarely was there ever an opportunity to do so in the presence of Keen, Cooper and Reddington. Meera seemed to like it that way, in all honestly. Attempts to take her aside and talk usually ended up with someone entering the room or Meera evading him by throwing herself into work or pairing herself up with Elizabeth (the fact that she got along better with the rookie than she did him, bothered the hell out of Donald).

It had gotten to the point that she became a ghost, one he saw all the time, but rarely interacted with because she was preoccupied or he was beginning to take assignments with Keen.

* * *

One day, he breezed out of work, weary and frayed. He rode the elevator down with Keen, listening as she rambled on about her husband, Tom, mainly her concerns for his safety, which isn't helping his present touch starved state of mind. "He's already concerned enough as it is," She told him. "I don't want him to think that he can't trust any of you to watch my back, especially after what happened with Barnes."

"Your husband's just worried about you, Keen," He told her. "I'm sure he'll calm down after this blows over."

"Yeah, but should he? What if he's right? What if this job's too dangerous? What happens when I don't come back-?"

Donald really didn't have an answer for her that wouldn't sound like an empty platitude.

They parted ways in the parking lot. Wandering the wide expanse of parked cars. He rummaged through his pockets to find hid his keys. When he finally takes the time to look up from what his hands are doing his trench coat, he found Meera leaning against the end of his sedan. Her car, a red BMW, was parked right across from his. "Meera-"

"Under normal circumstances, I'd ask you for a coffee, but I'm tired, horny and we need to talk," She said.

"Talk?"

"Yes, like a conversation. Your place or mine?"

Yours," He said before he could consider the question. Meera seemed to think about it before she gave him a look that told him she didn't care as long as it was with him. "Follow me, Agent Ressler."

An hour drive later, they arrived in Richmond and a cozy picturesque neighborhood that ran opposite of the impressions made by her work persona. She lived in a nice old row house, its exterior painted in warm pale colors, welcoming all who approached. The state the house's interior, however, when they entered the house was dismal. Not unlike her state of mind he was sure. One side was untouched, the other side looked like someone had started on remodeling but never got around to finishing it. She moved ahead of him, kicking things out of sight under chairs or behind unpacked boxes. The only light provided in room were two lamps sitting on far left and right of the living room. "What happened?"

"I was in the middle of redecorating when I left for England," She replied. "The second floor is a mess, but I haven't been in the mood to finish the job, really."

They were standing in the middle of her sleeping area. She slept on a mattress pressed up against a couch which served as a makeshift pillow alongside a mound of sheets that never quite landed on the bed. There were enough clothes lying discarded on the ground to make a homemade quilt out of and a single table made to suit one person. "You live here alone?"

"When I'm working, yes," Meera replied, tossing her coat and suit jacket aside. "My family lives in Leicester, I live in the states when I'm away."

Donald shrugged his coat off and draped on his arm. "So, you're married?"

"If I was, you wouldn't be here, would you?" She grinned, making herself comfortable on the edge of the bed.

 _Point taken,_ Donald pursed his lips and allowed his eyes to wander the living bedroom. "So, the family you're talking about-?"

"Two daughters, my mother, father and sister," Meera elaborated. She gestured to the bed with a wave of the hand. "And yourself? Do you actually have a family or was that your cover?"

He smiled. Dropping his coat on the heap on the floor joined on her bed, the suit jacket all the more apparent on his body when the sleeves pulled as he stretched his arms. "I have a family, but we're not exactly in touch, and-" He watched her fingers reach up and begin undo the knot of his tie. "-I'd rather not talk about them."

"Oh, no?" Meera said, pulling the tie from around his neck.

"No."

"Alright, then we won't." Donald shrugged his suit jacket off, Meera watched with mild interest as he tossed his jacket onto the chair overrun with winter jackets. Donald turned back to face her; the dim light of the lamps across the room cast shadows on her face. Donald watched her expression change from amused to uncertain. "What?"

"Nothing, I just… I missed you, after Munich," He said. Meera kissed him, hungry for physical contact. He pulled her closer to him. He could barely keep up as she mouth moved across his face and down toward his jaw. He considered how to undress her, but instead pressed her body against his. "Did you?" She asked. She swung her leg over so that she was sitting on his lap, her legs wrapped around his waist and he wrapped his arms around her. She kissed him again, wrapping arms around his neck. "Yeah," He said, smiling against her lips.

Donald doesn't have to imagine being with Meera anymore; his hands are moving across her thighs, frustrated by the sensation of fabric barring him from her skin. Her lips were against his throat, her breath hot against his skin. He let out a gasp, the muscle in his arms trembled as he fought to maintain some semblance of self-control.

* * *

When she woke up she was staring at her shoes. For a moment she didn't know where she was or what led to her lying on her side with a pair of pale arms wrapped around her waist, but she remembered the pattern of the carpet, the day she bought it (she was pregnant with Deeva). She turned over. Donald - Agent Ressler - did the same, making himself comfortable on his back. Seeing him lying there was neither awkward nor fulfilling, but kind of amusing. He's completely oblivious to the environment around him. Raising the sheets from her body, she got out of bed carefully. The short journey her feet have to make to get to the floor is still jarring; her body still hasn't adjusted to the lack of a bed frame keeping up off the floor. She marched sleepily around the bed in search of her clothes. Her shoes she spotted right off (she was staring at them earlier). The sunlight creeping through the windows only make apparent how much of a pigsty her living room looked right now.

She found her pants and underwear quicker than anticipated; they were lying on the ground next to Donald's shoes. Meera turned around in a semi-circle in search of her bra. She spotted the black and semi-laced underwear the same time she heard Donald's phone begin to ring. Out of some foregone desire to maintain her modesty she grabbed the bra off the chair where it landed. "Ressler."

"What?" He answered half-sleep.

"Answer your phone, it's probably Cooper," Meera told him. Donald didn't move immediately. He lay prone in the same spot he settled in after she woke up. His cell phone continued to ring. "Ressler!"

"Huh?"

"Would you get up?" Donald cracked opened one eye and stared right at her. He wasn't even awake when he started to pull the covers away from his body. "What time is it?" He asked, sleepwalking toward the sound of his cell phone.

"I don't know, a little after eight, probably," She replied, barely sparing him a past her hair. Donald shuffled around on the room, eyes blurry with sleep. He bent over and grabbed the first cell phone he saw on the floor. He slid the screen down away from the keypad as the last ring struck. "Hello?"

"Agent Ressler?" It was Elizabeth.

"Agent Keen? What is it?" He asked, sounding more awake than he felt.

"Hey, um, nothing much. Cooper wants Meera at the blacklist. Something about confirming a contact," She explained. "I tried calling her, but she didn't answer."

"I'll see if I can't call her home number-"

"I tried already. She isn't answering," Elizabeth interjected.

"Maybe she's still sleep," He said, looking in her direction. Meera flashed him a nervous smile as she continued to fiddle with her bra clasp.

"That's possible. She's usually so punctual," She said.

"She usually doesn't have sex before work," Donald heard Meera mumble.

"Are you coming in?"

"Is that trick question?"

"Right, of course. I'll see you when you get here," Elizabeth said. Donald ended the call, brain still buzzing with weariness. He would complain that it was too early in the morning to call anyone, but then he remembered he was usually up at this time, scrambling to get to work.

"What did Agent Keen want?"

"Cooper's looking for you. Something about your confirming a contact?" Donald relayed.

"Alright."

"Is that something I should know about, or-?"

"If it was, I suspect Cooper would've told you," Meera replied as a matter-of-factly. "If not, I'm not about to say anything."

"Hmm," Scratching the top of his head, he cast a glance in Meera's direction with a smile. She was now preoccupied with searching for a child. With some decent lighting, he could admire the shape of her body and the definition of her arms. "I had fun last night," He told her.

"What?" She didn't look up.

He frowned; worry growing in the back of his mind. "Is something wrong?"

"No, I'm just-" She stopped looking for a clean shirt in the pile of shirts on the chain in front of her and looked up at him. "I'm kind of embarrassed." Meera fished a red shirt from out of the pile. It was the one she wore a few weeks ago. She tossed it aside and grabbed the next shirt. It was a simple blue dress shirt. Tossing her hair out of her face, she proceeded to slip her arms through the sleeves.

"About last night?" Donald asked.

"Sort of," She chuckled. "I'm usually not that compulsive."

"Are you regretting that we slept together or that you were that upfront about being horny?"

"The latter," Meera replied, stuffing the shirt down her pants. Coming from around the chair she closed the distance between them, wrapped her arms around his neck. "The sex, on the other hand, I actually enjoyed," She smiled.

"Yeah, well, I didn't mind either," Donald told her with a grin.

"So, I noticed," She said, pinching his stomach. Donald backed away from her, hands swatting hers away from his waist. "Get dressed. We can pick up something to eat on the way." Donald watched her grab her suit jacket from off the floor. "Have you seen my cell phone?"

"It's somewhere around here," Donald grumbled. "I'd call, but I don't have your number."

"Naturally," Meera grunted as she got on her knees. "I'll find it, just get dressed." He didn't need to be told twice. Donald hunted about the room for his clothes, telling what was his from hers was a more trying task than originally thought. Meera threw his shoes toward the door and his trench coat on the bed. He eventually found his suit jacket and shirt in the corner on the side of the bed where he slept. "I can't find my tie," He said.

"Go to work without it," Meera told him as she adjusted her jacket. "You can come over and get it later."

"Meera, you don't just go to work without a tie," Donald complained. "It's unprofessional."

"Well, you either go without a tie or stay here for another hour and look for it," She told him. "Either way, it's an hour and thirty minutes back to Washington, which we're already wasting here. I'll be outside."

"Did you find your phone?" Donald asked, peeking under chair on his side of the bed.

"Yeah. It was in my coat pocket," Meera called over her shoulder. Knocking her feet against the floor, Meera unlocked her door stepped outside. Her feet barely settled on the sidewalk when she heard the door open. Meera looked over her shoulder; Donald was making his way down the stairs, tie in hand. "Found it," He told her, draping it around his neck. "It was on your side."

"Hm, I vaguely remember taking it off," She smiled. He met her on the landing. Maybe it was the weather, but her cheeks were flush. "What?"

"Nothing, I was just wondering- now that the circumstances are different, could we talk over coffee," Donald asked. Meera shrugged. "We'll see where the day takes us?" She suggested. "Maybe I'll ask you out for a drink after work."

"I wouldn't mind either scenario," Donald smiled.

* * *

They arrived at the black site an hour later than anticipated. In spite of the events that transpired last night, it wasn't hard to fall back into routine. Granted, Meera did a little touching up on the way down in the elevator, and Donald fumbled with fixing his tie, now wrinkled from lying on the ground.

However, as far as their co-workers were concerned, nothing was different about the way they interacted, the way they stood next to each other (the usual distance, apart or between other people). Meera was reserved and to the point, Donald still had trouble dealing with Reddington inability to not bother him.

Elizabeth's the only one who catches the indiscriminate hug that passes between them when she's leaving for home. And even then she's not sure what it means.

* * *

**(FIN)**


End file.
